The dark fantastic (16 page)

But Judith favored a home wedding. "It's so much more intimate, I think. Of course, I have no home, but Mrs. Barclay has kindly consented to let me be married from here. I hope it won't put her to too much trouble."

The Barclays, mother and daughters, interrupted in concert. It was no trouble at all. Their only fear was that they would never be able to get all the guests inside their tiny cottage.

"You plan to have guests, Judith?" asked Miss Ann dubiously. She had talked to her son and he had agreed with her that the quieter the wedding could be made, the better. Neither of them had spoken the thought aloud, but it was in the mind of each that festivities of any kind were in bad taste so soon after Abigail's death.

But Judith had no such scruples. "I want everyone at my wedding whom I hope to have for a friend, and that means practically everyone Richard knows. It's hard enough for a second wife to win a place for herself, without having hurt feelings on all sides to start with."

Ann Tomlinson could have explained that in this community it was harder to live down scandal than to cope with hurt feelings. But she held her tongue. And when the younger woman said, "You don't know how much it means to me to have Richard's friends like me. You see, I have none of my own," the prejudice which Miss Ann had felt since the night she discovered the schoolteacher's love for her son was forcibly put aside. Judith was not the daughter-in-law she would have chosen, but she was a young woman entering into her first marriage and entitled to the favors which are a bride's prerogative. If she wanted a home wedding, then a home wedding she should have. But it must not be at the Barclays'.

"If you plan to invite all Richard's friends you'd better be married at Timberley. It's the only house around here large enough to hold them."

Judith dropped her eyes before Ann Tomlinson caught their sparkle of triumph.

"Do you suppose it would be proper?" she demurred for the sake of appearances. "I mean, being married from the home of the bridegroom."

Quite as proper as being married six months after his first

wife's death, said the gleam in Miss Ann's eyes. But she answered kindly:

"It was your home last winter. It will be your home from now on. Under the circumstances I think you should return at once to Timberley and make all your arrangements from there."

This was what Judith had been angling for from the start. Now she need not be separated from Richard during this tiresome interval of waiting. But before she could express her pleasure at the invitation her future mother-in-law dashed her hopes.

"Fortunately an old college chum of Richard's has been wanting him to come to Greencastle and he can pay him a visit now as well as later."

Judith's face was a study in chagrin. "You mean Richard won't be at home?"

"Oh no. It would not do for the bride and groom to live under the same roof before their marriage," said Miss Ann calmly.

To Judith this attitude was sheer stupidity. Her first furious disappointment almost erupted in words. She had counted on this time with Richard to further bind him to her, for she was not yet sure of him. She had not seen him since that day in Mrs. Prewitt's garden, and their only intercourse had been a brief correspondence. She had no fear that he would try to jilt her, for he was a gentleman. But she was uneasily aware that she had taken him by surprise and that he might have regretted his capitulation. She had hoped for a chance to rekindle him. Now all her wiles were useless. Silently she cursed the hidebound conventionalitv of this rural community which forbade him her lips before their marriage night.

But she kept her disappointment to herself and decided to make the most of her opportunities. At least she would have nothing to distract her from her immediate objective, which was to stage a wedding at Timberley which should be the talk of the county. Three days later she returned, laden with goods bought on credit, and took personal charge of arrangements.

The Tomlinson women, catching a certain fire from her enthusiasm, good-naturedly followed her leadership. Kate, Jane, Nancy Turner, and Cousin Lutie Simms practically moved into the house to assist in the preparations. They sewed, cooked, cleaned, and garnished until the house bloomed like an autumn garden. A little bower of late fall flowers was erected in front of the drawn curtains of the alcove, and here the wedding ceremony was to be performed.

It was not until the last moment that Judith had the inspiration about Thorne. She had planned from the first that Richard's little sons were to be ring bearers. Kate and Cousin Lutie had cut up an old velveteen skirt of Miss Ann's and under Judith's direction had fashioned clever little pageboy suits for Ricky and Rodgie. She was using the double-ring ceremony (to the secret confusion of the easygoing Methodist minister), and Thorne was making two tiny satin pillows for the rings to lie on.

It was while watching Thorne bent silently over her work that the idea came to Judith. For the first time since her return she found herself really looking at the child. Either Thorne had avoided her, or Judith had been too busy to notice anyone in whom she was not interested. She had not bothered to apologize, when she found she had dispossessed Thorne from the bird's-eye-maple room, but she had invited her to share it until the wedding. Thorne, already installed in her old berth with the children, preferred to remain where she was. It came to Judith now that Thorne's feelings were hurt because the boys had a part in the wedding and she hadn't.

To Judith, personally, nothing was less important than Thorne's feelings. But she forced herself to recall that Richard made no difference between this girl and his own children. She did not intend to snare her enterprise on the reef which

had wrecked Abigail. Not at the outset, anyway. Richard must be pleased with every detail of the wedding, and Thorne moping in a corner was sure to catch his eye.

"How would you like to be in the wedding, Thorne?" she asked brightly, and watched with interest the startled uplift of the curly dark head.

"Judith, I think that's the smartest notion you've had yet," said Cousin Lutie, who was putting the finishing touches to the bridal veil. "If there's one thing that'd make Richard happy at his wedding it'd be to have Thorne standing beside him."

It was an unfortunate remark, Judith discounted it, as coming from a person of no consequence, and continued watching Thorne, who dropped her eyes to her work again.

"There's yards of that tulle left over, plenty to make you a dress. You can wear my satin sash and carry a basket of roses as flower girl. You're too young to be a maid of honor, but I really should have an attendant since Will is acting as Richard's best man. Would you like that, Thorne?"

"Do you think Richard would like it?" asked Thorne.

Annoyance flushed Judith's cheek. Any other girl of fourteen would have thrilled at the invitation. She had half a mind to retort that Nancy Turner was available if Thorne was not interested. Then she recalled her purpose in conciliating this strange child.

"As Cousin Lutie says, I'm sure Richard would be pleased to have all his children taking part in his wedding." Thus, having put Thorne in her place—back in the nursery—Judith gave orders that the tulle dress should be made up.

The wedding was set for the first Friday in October. Relatives from as far away as Bainbridge were expected, and from Monday morning till Thursday night the house buzzed with preparations for overnight guests. Judith came upon Miss Ann one morning emerging from the downstairs bedroom, her arms full of window curtains for the washtub.

"You're not cleaning that room?" she said blankly.

"Yes indeed. It's the first good cleaning it's had since ''"

Miss Ann stopped just in time. "We passed this room up on spring house cleaning, so it's due for a real turnout now. We're clearing everything out of the closet so..."

"The closet! Why bother with closets at a time like this?" The sharp tone brought a flush to the older woman's cheeks and Judith realized her voice had risen unnecessarily.

"I mean, you've done so much already, Miss Ann. I'm afraid you'll overdo. Guests who are only staying the night are not likely to go poking into closets."

"This room is not for overnight guests," explained Ann Tomlinson. "This room is the bridal chamber."

For a second Judith could neither move nor speak. Then she shivered, as though a cold wind had passed over her. Why had she not foreseen such an eventuality? She had taken for granted that she and Richard would occupy the bird's-eye-maple room. She had overlooked the fact that the downstairs bedroom was and always had been his room, built for him as a lad, with his own private entrance, long before his marriage to Abigail. He would expect, naturally, to go on living in his own quarters. And he would expect Judith to live there with him, in the room in which she had watched a dying woman fight for breath. . . .

A sudden paroxysm gripped her throat. She felt as though she were choking. When she spoke her voice was so queer that Ann Tomlinson noted with concern her strange pallor. Like so many brides, Judith was wearing herself out before her wedding.

"Miss Ann, I don't want to seem difficult—but I'd much prefer staying—for the present—in my old room upstairs. I believe Richard will understand—when I explain to him."

Ann Tomlinson understood. She had hinted to her son that his second wife might find unpleasant associations in the room where his first wife died, but he had scoffed at the idea. Judith was too level-headed to mind a thing like that. Besides, the bird's-eye-maple room had been given to Thorne, and as soon as the wedding was over she was going to move back into it. He had considered the matter settled when he departed for Greencastle.

He did not return until the day before the wedding. It was his mother, not Judith, who informed him of the changed arrangements.

"Now don't say anything you'll be sorry for, Richard" (as he started to explode). "It's a natural feeling for a new wife to have. Judith may be above the average in brains, but she's a woman like the rest of us. No woman wants to start her married life in the bed where her predecessor died." It was a double-barreled word for Miss Ann, but she brought it forth roundly, clinching her argument. Richard, somewhat grudgingly, gave in.

"It's only for one night, though, I warn you. As soon as the company's gone Thorne's moving back into her own room."

Judith did not see him until they met in the dining room on Thursday evening. The minister, Mr. Jameson, Lucius Goff, and John Barclay were'already gathered there in view of the wedding rehearsal which was to take place after supper. As Judith came in she wondered anxiously how Richard would greet her before his family and friends. She hoped for something a trifle warmer than a handshake. But she was not prepared for the charming gallantry with which he lifted the hand she gave him to his lips.

"Where did you learn that pretty gesture?" She smiled to hide her delight in him.

"It was Lucius's idea." He and Lucius had come out from town together. "Lucius holds that ladies of the—er—intellectual type prefer a kiss on the hand to a kiss on the lips." He looked down at her with a meaning twinkle. "I did not undeceive him."

If there was impudent reminder in his smile, there was also promise. Her last uncertainty vanished. She was thrillingly happy.

The rehearsal was the prolonged, nerve-racking ordeal such occasions usually are. The children were boisterous, young Will swore audibly at the confusion of the two rings, and John Barclay got lost in a medley of both wedding marches. The bewildered minister perspired freely and wished Lucius Goff had license to officiate since he seemed the only person present, except the bride, who knew what was going on. Lucius, who had covered many fashionable weddings for his paper, was in his element. Under his guidance the rehearsal was finally got through. But it was a late hour when the womenfolk retired, leaving the downstairs rooms to the bridegroom and his friends, whose traditional privilege it was to make merry till all hours.

Judith had hoped for a moment alone with Richard, but it was not to be. The house was full of men and others were arriving. To have remained among them would have offended rural propriety. So she made her good nights general and withdrew.

Thorne also slipped away, but not before Richard spied her. He caught her at the foot of the stairs and swung her clear off the floor in a hearty hug, demanding to know where she had been hiding all evening.

"I've been away, young lady, or hadn't you noticed? And not so much as a welcome home from you. Look up here," he commanded. "Give me a kiss."

She lifted her face obediently and they kissed. Two arms went round his neck and he held her close. There was a moment of poignant awareness that this was the end of something precious; the beginning of some loss. Then she drew quickly away from him and said:

"It's you who haven't noticed anything all evening. I was at supper and I was in the rehearsal, but you didn't see me. You were in a fog."

And laughing at the blankness of his face, she ran swiftly up the stairs.

CHAPTER 14

It was the prettiest wedding ever seen in Woods County (so the Woodridge Sentinel reported), and the prettiest thing in the wedding was Thorne (which the Sentinel did not report). From the moment Judith saw her in the tulle dress she realized it had been a mistake to dress Thorne up. With her curls caught in a band of pink ribbon and a little flower basket on her arm, she looked like one of her own roses. No doubt it was her old training in stagecraft that taught her to walk with that slow poised grace. But as she moved down the stairs ahead of the bride, the eyes of the guests fastened on the flower girl and went no farther. Judith was in an ill frame of mind by the time she reached the altar.

Then she saw Richard, looking handsomer than ever in a new black broadcloth suit, and her annoyance was forgotten in the thrill of her achievement.

The ritual, so tediously rehearsed, proceeded without a hitch. The children behaved impeccably. The rings were not dropped. The minister coughed only twice. The solemn hush that filled the rooms lingered even after the final words were spoken.